


self recognition through the other (lab mouse)

by wowsignals



Category: Half-Life VR but the AI is Self-Aware - Fandom
Genre: First Meetings, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-09
Updated: 2021-03-02
Packaged: 2021-03-15 15:34:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29316414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wowsignals/pseuds/wowsignals
Summary: A story about Harold and Bubby's past and how they came to realize the darker side of Black Mesa.
Relationships: Bubby/Dr. Coomer (Half-Life)
Comments: 15
Kudos: 20





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> hello!!!! updates on tuesdays & any needed cw will be in the chapter notes! also, this starts in the 50s/60s and will meet up with hlvrai canon in the 90s (when hl came out) but like everything else, i took a lot of liberties with historical fact and canon

Young, ambitious, fresh out of university: Harold Coomer was ready to do something great. He’d already been contacted by countless facilities and labs, varying in secrecy and morality, but the one that stood out the most was Black Mesa. A name tossed around in nearly all his classes; an urban myth of scientists whose curiosity and recklessness outweighed their moral and logical reasoning, a scientific Icarus. He’d heard it from the physics department, the biology department, the medical department, the astronomy department, basically every department that could even loosely fall under the category of science. The story was basically the same, only the details would change to suit the theme: rockets bound for other galaxies, hybrid creatures, and any sort of experiment that a stereotypical mad scientist would try and fail to achieve. The legend followed that as well - it always ended in failure. The kind of failure that required clean up by more than just bleach. The kind of failure that would definitely keep a lab shut down. 

Of course, like all good scientists, Harold decided to follow his curiosity and accept their offer. Even without all that, the pay and position were more than enough motivation. Other places had offered internships, but Black Mesa had offered him an entire department. It was all incredibly exciting. 

The only downside was the timeline, requiring him to pack up and move across the country to New Mexico in less than 24 hours. Plane ticket provided, new apartment waiting (paid for by Black Mesa), and his whole future ahead of him. It was hardly even a minor downside for Harold, he wasn’t sentimental and had no family or friends close enough to warrant hesitation. 

  
  


After a few days of filling out paperwork and signing contracts too long to read and then a whole day spent at a medical center being thoroughly examined, it was finally his first official day at Black Mesa. A black car, driven by a man in a blue button down and tie, picked him up early that morning. The long drive was awkward, to say the least, but Harold was oblivious to it, never having been good at reading social cues. He was, by nature, overly friendly and chatty but all his attempts at conversation fell flat when the driver would fail to respond with more than a nod. That was okay though, Harold was used to conversations being one sided and he continued to carry on talking about what experiments he couldn’t wait to conduct and speculating at what department he would be assigned to (with time to think about it, it was odd the original offer hadn’t specified). 

Back at the university, conversations went much the same way. The other person either couldn’t keep up with his disjointed train of thought or would have absolutely no clue what he was talking about, the later mainly with complete strangers who were majoring in Literature or some other department unrelated to whatever Harold was on about. He would stop and talk to anybody, at any time. Most students, when caught up in thinking about a certain project would avoid others, too lost in their inner thoughts, but Harold was the opposite: all his inner thoughts were outside and he worked through problems by explaining it to others in terms only he understood until something would click. His strange social habits led to most other students avoiding him. It would have been a lonely experience, and he felt that deep down, but first and foremost was his love for science so he didn’t think about it thoroughly. 

After a rant about the new S-Matrix theory and how it was just a fancy way of giving up on science not yet understood, they had arrived. 

The building was not what you would expect. Or maybe it was exactly what you would expect, depending on how much experience you had with top secret facilities located in the middle of an empty desert. It was a plain concrete structure, set beside the base of a red mountain range stretching off into the distance and curving back and away from the building, presumably forming a valley-like structure on the other side. 

Two guards leaned up against the wall on either side of the only door in sight, fanning themselves and talking idley. Even in the shade of the building, the heat was nearly unbearable. They didn’t notice Harold and driver approaching until they were nearly at the doors, upon which they straightened up and greeted them with a lazy half-wave half-salute, the status of their arrival not requiring much professionalism. 

Inside was a large room with a large desk at the far end blocking the entrance to a hallway, a few scattered chairs sat around small tables that were obviously often moved around to accommodate groups of varying sizes, and some potted cacti. Calling it a lobby would be generous. A woman sat at the desk, struggling with a towering stack of paperwork and folders. Behind her was an overflowing filing cabinet and another guard smoking a cigarette. 

It certainly wasn’t a scene to inspire, but Harold was practically vibrating with excitement. 

“Name?” the guard asked in a monotone voice, snuffing his cigarette in a bowl on the desk. 

“Harold Coomer, PhD!” he emphasized the PhD, a new edition he was incredibly proud of. 

The guard nodded to the woman, who began digging through a different stack of papers, and turned to the driver, seeming to ignore Harold. 

“So how was the drive over? See any interesting clouds?” the guard asked in a bored voice. _What a strange question,_ thought Harold, but the strangeness only added to his excitement. 

The driver took a moment to light his own cigarette before answering. “Oh you know, the usual. A couple of a rabbit-shaped ones and a distant storm cloud.” 

The guard nodded slowing, his stance relaxing a bit. 

“Did I miss anything?” said the driver, a nervous undertone betraying the innocence of the question. 

“Nothing much,” the guard broke his aloof facade but giving Harold a nervous glance, “there was another... incident on the lower levels. That one level, to be exact.” 

“Oh god. You don’t mean -” 

“I do,” the guard snapped back, with another glance at Harold, “but don’t worry it's all taken care of.” 

The driver chewed his lip, a bead of sweat rolled down the guards cheek, Harold was frozen with suspenseful anticipation. He had only just arrived and already there was vague talk about some repeated incident. All great discoveries had accidents along the way. And it was all the more exciting. He was having trouble staying quiet, not wanting to change the topic, but he was about to explode with questions. 

Right as he opened his mouth, a pen clicked and the moment fell apart. All three of them looked to the desk, where the receptionist was holding a pen and clipboard. 

“Sorry for the wait, gentlemen. I’ve been telling them we need more filling space but they’d rather the papers flood this room I guess. Doctor Coomer, if you’d sign here to check in please.” 

As he signed, she explained that they didn’t have time cards or schedules and weren’t paid hourly but rather salary and this sheet was just to keep track of who was in the building. There was a column for check-ins, which is where Harold neatly signed, and a second column for check-outs. Some names had only a red X next to their names under check-out. She passed the sheet to the driver next. 

“And here’s your identification card. You’ll need to keep this on you and in sight at all times, just clip it to your tie.” 

The card was blue and had Harold’s school photo in the corner, next to his full name and a string of numbers he assumed were some identification code. In big block letters across the bottom was ‘ACCESS LEVEL 5’. On the back were lines of smaller print: height, eye color, other physical descriptors, birthday, his blood type, and even his one allergy (green food dye). 

“I do love the color blue,” he said cheerfully, but the other three just shared a look that he couldn’t decipher. 

“Yeah well, let's get going then. I’ll take you through to level 4, where you’ll meet up with someone who will walk you through level 5 and to your lab.” 

“Oh yes, my lab! I’ve been wanting to ask, what is it exactly?” 

“Above my clearance level is what it is.” 

  
  


Level 1 consisted of empty conference rooms, break rooms, a cafeteria with a few people quietly eating, and a large locker room. A loud elevator that shook dangerously took them through to the next levels. An expressionless guard stood outside each elevator entrance and would check both their IDs before letting them on or off. 

Level 2 was endless hallways of offices and storage rooms. The sound of typewriters and paper shuffling echoed throughout. Despite the obvious presence of people, the space gave off a liminal vibe. 

Level 3 was simply an incredibly long hallway lined with rattling pipes that got so dim you couldn't see the end. The guard explained that it led to the dam that powered most of Black Mesa. It was noticeably colder and despite it being completely dry, Harold couldn’t shake the image of a wall of water rushing down the corridor. A hint of fear was added to the growing list of strange emotions this place gave him. 

Level 4 was warm again and filled with noises of people shouting and glass breaking. Another guard ran past them and into an open door. A glass was thrown out the door and broke on the opposite wall, leaving a thick purple fluid splattered on the grey concrete. 

“It sounds like someone’s mad!” Harold said loudly, worried but sounding upbeat, as his tone automatically did whenever he was feeling a strong emotion. It made other people read him as mad or callous, depending on the situation. 

“This level is mostly for the chemistry department. The potions guys get easily worked up,” he laughed at that but slowly backed away into the elevator again. There was no guard to check their IDs. “There’s been talk of moving them down to a lower level, to, you know, give them more space to work.” He was a bad liar. 

At level 5, a guard was waiting directly outside the door. He took one look at the other guards pass and shook his head. 

“Sorry sir, but you’re not cleared to be here. Who let you past level 4?” 

“The guard there was… preoccupied. Typical level 4 stuff.” 

They shared an understanding look. Harold was beginning to notice that the most meaningful communication in Black Mesa was hidden in quick glances and words with double meanings. The excitement that led him this far was still strong, but the competing mix of unsure emotions was getting stronger. 

After the first guard was on his way back up and Harold’s ID had been approved, the new guard walked him down yet another hallway. Black Mesa seemed to be 80% hallways. 

Contrary to the other guards' poorly hidden anxiety, this guard gave off an air of confidence. They passed a number of closed doors, which the guard failed to explain or answer questions about, until they came to the end of the hallway where the guard turned to block the door and face Harold. Harold couldn’t see past him into the dim room. 

“This is your department. It's the newest one and as I hear, it's rather… exciting,” he looked right in Harold’s eyes with a kind of sadistic spark. 

“What is it?” 

“That’s classified. Until you step inside at least,” and with those final and unnerving words, the guard sidestepped and gave him a shove inside. 

Harold was suddenly aware of a lot of things at once and he barely had to time process them but it all boiled down to a few things: it was dark, it was cold, it smelled strongly of sulfur and alcohol. An overwhelming sweet flavor filled his mouth, he had one last thought, _I’m scared_ , and then everything went dark. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw for medical pain (?) not sure exactly the term to use! if you want to skip this chapter, a summary will be in the end notes.

Harold awoke to beeping, dim lights, and excruciating pain. And then passed out. 

  
  


This repeated for a while until finally he was able to stay awake long enough to identify what pain he was feeling, which was difficult because it was coming from everywhere. His head was pounding with the kind of headache that feels like your brain is being crushed, he couldn't see clearly and the burning in his eyes was worse when he tried, his skin stung and felt like it had been stretched or maybe his body was swollen or both, all his joints ached with the same feeling you get when you need to crack your knuckles but multiplied by a thousand, and finally, intense nausea. He rolled over and vomited and passed out again. 

  
  


The next time Harold was conscious, everything felt numb and distant. It still looked like everything was underwater and he couldn’t get his eyes to focus, but at least the pain had turned into more of a soreness. The rest of his body still ached, but he couldn't bring himself to care. He couldn’t move but it was okay because he didn’t want to. He felt like he was floating and it was so comfortable compared to the pain he felt before. 

After what felt like hours of just existing, he started to feel grounded again. With it came a vague awareness of his surroundings. He was in a hospital-style bed with a whole rack of bottles feeding various fluids into needles in his arms. Noises started to filter in: voices that he couldn't make out, beeping and whirring, paper rustling and pens scratching. That last one just kept getting louder and louder until he turned his head and noticed it was coming from a man sitting in a chair, writing quickly on a clipboard with a thick stack of paper. 

Turning his head caused Harold to groan in discomfort, and the man looked up. 

“Can you hear me? I’d hate to think we overcorrected from last time and gave you too much sedative this time,” he laughed coldly and Harold groaned again in answer. 

“Good, good. Don’t try to talk yet though, we didn’t do anything in that department but your vocal cords still need some rest, especially after all that screaming! Did you know unconscious people can still scream? Or perhaps you weren’t entirely unconscious,” he drifted off for a moment before snapping back and clapping his hands together, “Well! I’ll have a nurse bring you something to drink and you’ll up and at ‘em in no time!” He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. 

  
  


When Harold next awoke, a woman was setting a tray next to his bed that held a cup with a straw and line of syringes and a roll of gauze. She grabbed the gauze and moved towards him but when she saw he was awake, she reached for the cup instead. 

“Drink this slowly, very slowly. Don’t try to speak yet, I’m sure he told you.” 

The drink was salty but felt refreshing all the same. He watched as she pulled back his sleeves to reveal yellowing bandages with splotches of dark red. She slowly peeled them off, and he yelped as it stang. She stopped and without saying anything, injected one of the syringes directly into an IV line. Harold once again lost consciousness. 

  
  


This went on for a few more months. Each time it was the same, except for the few times the man had to check in. He wore a lab coat over a black suit and didn’t look much like a medical doctor but he must have been. He was always writing on that clipboard and watching Harold, often speaking to the nurses about him as if he weren’t there. 

He was slowly able to stay awake for longer, and the bandages had less and less blood until there was none at all on the outer layers. 

The fog in his mind was clearing up as well, _probably because they’re taking me off the sedatives_ , he was finally able to reason. His headache was minimal and his eyes could focus clearly, but his body still ached, mainly his arms and legs. His stomach often felt unsettled but not horribly so. 

Now that he was able to hold thoughts in his head, he couldn’t stop thinking and speculating and fearing what had happened. His memory wasn’t hazy, but it was broken and jumbled. The pieces that were there were perfectly sharp and vivid, the rest were just missing. A lot of the missing ones still had emotions connected to them but without context it was difficult to make sense of them. He knew a lot of things about non-personal topics, down to the particulars of S-Matrix theory (that thought was attached to an annoyed emotion), but hardly any memories of how he learned these things. 

  
  


He spent a lot of days just trying to make sense of it all, but the most he could piece together was that he was in a facility underground (he knew it wasn't a hospital, despite what this room looked like), he was excited about it but also afraid, and something bad happened. Something that caught him by surprise. That was a memory he focused on a lot. Trying to identify emotions or stimuli or anything, but the harder he thought about it the more his head hurt. 

When the day finally came that he could talk semi-comfortably again, he didn’t ask about it. He had remembered enough to know that he should be afraid. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a summary for those who wanted to skip this chapter: harold wakes up periodically in a hospital setting in a lot of pain. a man in a suit and lab coat stops by sometimes and behaves strangely. harold has almost no personal memories prior to waking up, just vague memories of emotions. his head hurts if he tries to think about what happened, but he remembered enough to know to be afraid and not ask.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the late update!! for some reason i didnt separate the google doc file ive been writing in into chapters, so it was a bit of a mess. but ive cleaned it up now so updates should be easier! and thank you everybody for the kudos and comments, it really means so much to me and makes me so happy! to see that people are interested in this story is very validating and motivating!

Harold Coomer had worked at Black Mesa for about 10 years now. He couldn’t remember exactly when or how he started, or what he had done before working here, but he had learned not to bother with it. 

He worked in the Rocket Lab, on Levels 1-3 B, a newer wing that was within the bowl the mountain range formed. He wasn’t the department head, but he did manage a smaller team of scientists who specifically developed materials strong enough to withstand extreme conditions. It was going moderately well. 

He didn’t really question why he was the only one who ever personally tested these materials in the extreme conditions test chamber or why it felt natural for him to ignore the many warnings posted on the chamber that made it extremely clear that death was imminent upon entry. 

He also didn’t question why he was routinely called to other divisions to do similar things. 

He didn’t question a lot. He used to, he could remember that much, and he also could remember the headaches and blackouts it caused. 

It was a content life, as far as he could tell he was supposed to feel. Another thing not to question. His work was fascinating, if a little routine and boring at times. He was okay with the fact that people avoided him and gave him strange looks when he would talk to them. It was normal to be taken to level 8 every month and leave with a week-long gap in his memory. It was all fine. 

(Until it wasn’t.) 

It was a day like any other. Harold sat at a table in the break room, drinking his second soda of the morning and staring off into space. Another scientist, Harold remembered his name was Andrew, entered the room and went over to the vending machine. 

“Hello, Angus!” Harold always greeted everyone, by name if he knew it, and was completely unaware that it would usually come out wrong. A lot of things he tried to say didn’t come out quite right. 

“Good morning, Doctor Coomer,” he said as he sat down across from Harold. Andrew was always friendly and up for a conversation. 

“Did you hear about what’s been going on in the level 13 lab? It's supposed to be top secret, highly classified, but…I know a guy who knows a guard who knows a guard who knows a guard that works on level 11 and boy, did he have a lot to say! All secretly, of course,” Andrew said with a sly smile. 

“Well, Anthony, I never approve of workplace gossip! But I have to say I have been overhearing some rumors myself. I heard they had a success of some sort, but to be honest I have no idea what their focus even is down there! After all, it is level 13. Thirteen has been long considered bad luck, you know!” 

“I know, I know, that’s why it's so intriguing!” he looked at the doorway before leaning in close. “You know that fire-resistant fabric you worked on last year? Well, word is the Textile Division down on Level 4 made these suits with it. Completely fireproof suits. And all those guards that have been reassigned? They've all been outfitted with those suits and sent down to 13. I also heard that level 12 has been completely cleared, which could mean a lot of things, but no one I know knows about any plans to move anything in there. The guard I mentioned, the one that works on 11? Yeah, him, he told his friend who told his friend who told his friend who then told me, that you can hear noises coming from 13, and, this is where the puzzles pieces start coming together, it’s been way hotter down there,” he sat back with a finality and gave Harold an eager look, “and all this information was hard to get! Not many people work down there, I hear it’s nearly impossible to get volunteers and only so many can be forced.” 

“Hello, Andrew!” Harold took a moment to process it, “I think that is worth investigating! Sounds like an adventure, and you know what I always say! Nothing ventured, nothing gained!” with those words, he stood up quickly, knocking the chair back and spilling the soda left on the table. “Let’s go!” 

“Uh, Harold! This was just gossip! You only have level 7 clearance!” he shouted after him, but Harold had already bolted down the hallway. 

He had never asked for anything, not a promotion or better housing or more scientists, so Harold figured it would be easier to get a transfer request approved. After leaving the break room, he went straight to the receptionist, Samantha, to get the paperwork. 

“Hello, Sam!” 

She sighed, still busy as ever with mountains of paperwork and still no more storage space than she had 10 years ago. “What is it? I’m really busy right now, I don’t have time for a science lecture.” 

“You sure are busy! But you know the saying: another day, another dollar!” he laughed, giddy with excitement about this new adventure. His daily routine hadn’t seemed so boring until there was a possibility of something else. “I need the paperwork to request a transfer, specifically involving clearance levels.” 

This made her stop shuffling papers. Most employees that had lasted 10 years with such a high success rate would already be at least level 10, nearly the highest clearance, but Doctor Coomer hadn’t progressed for the last five years. It was strange, now that she thought about it. The papers were easy to find, one of the few that had claimed a spot in a drawer. 

Harold quickly filled them out at one of the tables in the lobby. Like all Black Mesa paperwork, it took two hours, which was on the quicker side. They were returned to Samantha where they were then put in the tray to be brought to the boss. 

The next week was nearly unbearable. Harold couldn't remember the last time he felt like this - looking forward to something so strongly you can’t think about anything else, excited enough that he was nearly vibrating. It reminded him of another time, but trying to place it gave him a headache. 

He completed work as fast as he could and would spend the rest of time trying to take part in as much gossip as he could. It wasn’t a lot considering his closest relationship was Andrew, and he didn’t even know his last name and only saw him if they bumped into each other. It didn’t help that most people found him hard to talk to, with his sentences sometimes being spoken out of order, or completely wrong words coming out, or jumping into a sudden tangent about something barely related. 

He ended up resorting to eavesdropping. This yielded far more answers, especially since most of his coworkers tended to ignore him in social settings. He learned that there had been frequent containment breaches by some living subject, that most of the serious injuries that resulted were burns, and that whatever was down there was extremely dangerous. And that it had been created and grown right here in Black Mesa. There were more words he kept hearing, but it wouldn’t stick in his head and kept causing him headaches. Words like ‘clones’. 

The week had ended and he still didn’t have a reply to his request. At this point, it would be time to ask Samantha to refile or send a reminder, but he didn’t get the chance. That night when he returned to his room on level 2, a man in a suit was waiting for him. He looked familiar, but that just caused another headache. Harold couldn’t help the feeling of fear that started forming. 

“Ah, Doctor Coomer. Glad to, see you… are doing well… I assume,” the man’s smile only made that feeling grow. 

“Do I… know you?” it wasn’t often that Harold was outwardly confused. 

“Let’s go, inside and talk about… the, ah, request… you filed recently.” 

They both stood in the middle of the room, the man looking around with a scowl on his face before turning back to look him in the eyes. 

“To put it… simply, I can’t approve... this request. But, I don’t, ah, like saying... ‘no’ without giving… you a… fair fight. Explain, why,” he talked slowly, and kept taking breaths in between words as if he had to think about each word before speaking it. 

_This was definitely a challenge,_ Harold thought, _this is not a time to be honest. It’s time for lies. Nothing ventured, nothing gained!_

“I heard that you were having trouble recruiting and keeping people to work on level 13, and while I’m happy with my position in the Rocket Lab on levels 1-3 B, I think it may be time for a change!” 

The man stared for a long while, deep in thought though it was impossible to tell that he was thinking not of Harold’s enthusiasm, but rather of his expendability. And with the success they were having on level 8, he was certainly expendable. 

“Okay. Go see, Samantha, in the morning… to sign the paperwork, and get your... updated identification card. Congratulations.” 

Harold blinked and he was gone. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry once again for a late update!! the part of my brain that processes time was eaten by a worm years ago. this is a short chapter! i thought about uploading the next one at the same time but i only have a few more chapters written in advance and i dont want to post it faster than i can write it *pensive* thank you once again for all the love and support, really means so much to me <3

“Hello, Smiley!” 

Samantha didn’t even look up, just pointed to a clipboard on the edge of the desk, “It’s all right there, just sign it and leave it there, and the ID is right next to it.” 

Harold signed quickly, no one ever actually read the paperwork, and picked up the card. Under it was another card that read ‘LEVEL 8 DENIED’ which he held up to Samantha. 

“Stanley, look! A second card?” 

“Yeah I guess so, just clip it next to the other one.” 

She was clearly too busy to answer and level 8 wasn’t his interest anyways, so he thought nothing more of it. 

He stopped for a quick soda; he had come to depend on the caffeine. He then made his way to the elevator for the long trip down. 

His first impression of level 13 was that it was hot. Not nearly as hot as the summer desert, more like uncomfortably warm. The elevator let out into a small room. There was a first aid station on the wall, marked with an unsettling blood smear. Directly across from the elevator was a large blast door, there were scorch marks spreading out from under it. The corner of the room was blocked off by a locked gate, behind which were weapons ranging from tranquilizers to lethal guns. A guard stood next to it, dressed in a thick black suit. Harold held up his ID and the guard nodded. 

The door was raised by a turn wheel, which the guard turned just enough for Harold to duck under the door. The hallway beyond it was completely deserted. The only sounds were the hushed voices coming from a room to his left and the distant sounds of machines whirring and banging. 

When he pushed open the door, it startled one of the two scientists sitting at the table enough to jump, before they both let out a collective sigh. 

“Hello! Is there a meeting going on?” 

“No - er - yes. I guess. Who are you?” an older man that sat farther from the door asked. He had blisters all over his face, like a really bad sunburn, and a good chunk of hair missing because of it. 

“I’m Doctor Harold Coomer, volunteer for the level 13 team!” 

This earned some shocked looks followed by the two asking “Why?” at the same time. 

“Well, doctors, I have to be honest and tell you that I was curious! And isn’t curiosity the foundation of science?” he smiled brightly, but all the tense and frightened vibe of the room in addition to the rumors were making him a little nervous. 

A woman in a lab coat, which was rare to see as most the scientists were men, laughed. 

“You volunteered? You came down here willingly? Most of us were sent here as a kind of punishment, to keep us out of the spotlight, since we’re too valuable and we know too much about this place to just be fired.” 

The other nodded tiredly in agreement and she continued, clearly the department head or at least the only one still confident enough to take charge. 

“Well, I guess that’s good news for us! If you're so curious, you won’t mind taking over some of the more unpleasant duties around here then,” she got up and shuffled through some files in the corner, pulling out a thick folder stamped with a red ‘CLASSIFIED’, “You can read this over if you’d like; it’s the official documentation of this department, but most of it is redacted. We can fill in the blanks.” 

He took the folder from her and sat down at the desk. They all watched with anticipation as he flipped through, giving the occasional “Ah!” or “Fascinating…” his usual upbeat voice matched what he was feeling this time. 

The files, as she had said, were mostly redacted and it didn’t take long to finish them. What he could piece together gave the impression of some sort of genetic research. Words like ‘amniotic fluids’ and ‘genetic designs’ and ‘cloning’ kept popping up, but he had a hard time processing that last one. 

“These files sure were secret, aha! I want to know more, especially since I’ll be working here now.” 

“Good, because it would be impossible for you to do your job otherwise,” she paused, thinking about where to start, “this division doesn’t have an official title, it’s just known as level 13. It used to be a part of the Biology department, before it grew to be too ambitious and became its own thing. And too dangerous. It was moved down here about… 10 years ago, where a handful of scientists continued the work under heavier security. As time passed though, they’ve had to up the security. As for what actually happens down here, simply put it’s growing organic material. Back when it was still up with Biology, it was growing organs. It started with mice and pigs, but soon moved onto human,” she paused again, nose wrinkling with some mixed emotion of disgust and regret, “soon after, it stopped being just pieces and became the whole human. 

“Bodies grown directly into adults in specialized fluids derived from natural ones, like amniotic fluid. They’re built from a combination of desirable genes, polyglycolic acid, and protein structures. After living bodies were made - and I use the word ‘living’ loosely - they wanted to use it for something. To create someone, or rather something, to be perfect. Of course these were people who viewed scientific advances as the most important thing in the universe, and I used to agree. Not so sure anymore…” she drifted off for a moment. “So they got work collecting and splicing the genes from the smartest people they could get their hands on. They aimed for the genes that caused intelligence, curiosity, ambition… things like that. But it’s not an exact science, and that's where things started to go downhill. It had already been downhill, morally speaking, but they couldn’t see that or chose to ignore it, but it had entered a whole new territory. 

“All the artificial additives started producing strange results. Things started to get out of hand. It was all falling apart. And I don’t mean failures as in they weren’t getting any results, I’m talking about dangerous creatures emerging. New creatures. They barely even resembled primates. Their consciousness level was debatable and they seemed to rely on whatever instincts had been pieced together in their design, and friendly wasn’t a part of it. 

“There were… attacks. People mutilated, limbs torn off, organs literally ripped out of bodies while they were still alive. Anyone within reach was fair game. After a grueling period and many deaths, they were able to… euthanize them. 

“But the lesson hadn’t been learned, and they tried again. This time growing a larger batch than before, very large. They tweaked each one just a little, to try and fix what had gone so wrong. You can guess that ended. They thought this failure was due to not being to study their previous mistake, so these specimens were contained. It’s been difficult and there’s a worrying amount of containment breaches, but the closest they’ve come to truly escaping has been level 12. 

“The one thing they got right was keeping them around to study, I suppose, although the best decision would have been to abandon the project altogether. The most successful trial was a single subject, and it was incredibly successful compared to the rest. It passes as human pretty well, but in the uncanny valley sort of way. It's intelligent, and mean, and has a distinct personality which the others lacked. It’s inhumanly powerful - I’m sure you’ve noticed all the evidence of burns - and very uncooperative. We’ve had to use force to keep it contained and subdued, but it barely works. There have been a lot of containment breaches from this one,” she sat back down, emotionally exhausted. 

Harold was silent in thought for a while, his brain overloaded with information. The excitement he felt was equal to the fear but he had absolutely no regrets or less curiosity than before. 

“Hello-” he cut himself off, “I do believe I’d like to see the lab and the specimen.” 

They all looked at each other before coming to the silent conclusion that neither of them would walk Harold there and would instead just give him directions. 

“Just go down the hall opposite the direction of the entrance until you reach the blast door on the left with the turnwheel. There will be a guard there to let you in. Don’t, uh, don’t go down the hallway to the right.” 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> what you have all been waiting for hehehehe

Harold was actually the one to open the door. The guard crouched in front of it as it rose, gun ready as if waiting for something to jump out. But nothing did, and Harold was allowed to enter; the guard closing the door quickly. 

The room was an open space bathed in green light. Computer terminals lined the walls with blinking lights and buttons and switches, cords snaked up walls and through vents, presumably to a room that contained the actual computing servers. Diagrams were pinned to a large board that took up most of one wall; anatomical drawings, DNA sequences, lists of compounds, things like that. Up against the back wall were tall glass tubes, empty and dark. Most of them were webbed with cracks, and one was completely shattered. 

Right in the middle of the room was another tube, this one filled with the green liquid that washed over the rest of the space. Inside was a figure suspended, arms crossed and looking absolutely furious. 

This was the specimen, but it was hard to believe that this was the creature that caused all the damage and destruction and pure fear he had been warned about. It looked like a person, maybe a little off, with long limbs and pointed fingers and sharp teeth that could be seen when it snarled as Harold approached, far less cautious than he expected he would. 

“Hello - ah,” Harold frowned for a fraction of a second, “specimen!” He smiled brightly and waved. He couldn't hold back his usual friendliness, despite the lingering fear in his gut that was slowly dissipating. 

The creature huffed and squinted at him. “Oh look, a new one. Come to let me out? Have me do some more math equations? A little dissection? You can fuck right off,” it signed with jabbing motions angrily. Of course, talking would be impossible in a liquid like that, luckily Harold was fluent. 

“Dissection? Of course not! I’m curious, not sadistic!” 

“Well you can still fuck right off.” 

“Can I at least ask some questions? The information I was given was clearly lacking.” There was a long pause as Harold thought of what question to ask first. He already knew the cold logic of it all; how it was made, what sustained it, what it was apparently capable of. But science was so much more than statistics. “What do you think about?” 

The specimen was so caught off guard that the mean and uncaring persona slipped, arms dropping and a puzzled look on its face, “what… do I think about?” Within seconds, the facade was back on, but the brief moment had revealed a lot. “I think about getting the hell out of here, that’s what.” 

“Out of the tube? They do let you out sometimes, right? For tests?” He walked over to the terminal, scanning the dozens of buttons and switches. Of course none were labeled clearly, but a large red one under a plastic cover seemed the obvious answer. 

An alarm sounded, and the intercom buzzed to life with panicked voices of the scientists in the previous room. 

“Oh my god, what are you doing?” the man with the burn blisters shouted, sounding frantic and close to tears. The woman’s voice followed with a stern but shaky voice, “You- you can’t just let it out! Didn’t you listen at all?” 

Harold tried to push the button to answer, but instead pushed the one to disconnect. Oh well, he hadn’t planned on listening anyways and besides, it was their fault for not labeling them better. Their information was flawed, he had to work this out for himself. 

The gelatinous fluid drained through a grate at the bottom of the tube; as the level descended, the specimen stood up, wobbling a bit with the current, and retched. Another alarm sounded as the thick metal covering the top slid aside. 

Harold was confused for a second on how the specimen would get out; there wasn’t a ladder or anything but then - ah - it simply jumped up and grabbed the edge, hauling itself over and landing gracefully on the tile, dripping green goop. 

It walked up to Harold, standing up straight and staring him down. It was taller than him and when it smiled, it’s teeth seemed even sharper. He noticed it had gotten uncomfortably warm and in the tense silence, he felt afraid again. Maybe everyone had been right and he had just made a huge mistake. But he refused to believe that he read the situation so wrong and that the specimen, who clearly felt deep and sincere emotions, wasn’t anything more than just an intelligent machine with an instinct for violence. 

“You let me out of my tube! Why did you let me out of my tube?” The question was so surprised and genuine and even grateful that Harold’s fear dissipated once again. 

“I don’t think anyone should be in green goop! I’m allergic! Can I ask more questions now?” 

“Oh, um, I guess so,” it moved closer, now standing face-to-face with him just inches away. _Oh no,_ thought Harold, _it’s pretty!_ He was too flustered to move. “For five dollars I’ll even answer.” That made him laugh loudly, the tension relieved. 

The specimen dropped to the floor, sitting with legs crossed and waiting for him to do the same. 

“We should take a seat here on the floor, it will be much more comfortable than standing!” he said late, in typical Harold fashion, as he also sat. 

“Hello, specimen!” He was suddenly aware of what he’d said, a vocal tic that showed up when he was feeling any strong emotion, and the fact that all he knew to call the specimen was ‘specimen’. “That won’t do. Do you have a name?” 

“Uh - I - uh, no? I don’t - the scientists never gave me one,” it was said very fast and flustered. 

“Go ahead and pick one then!” 

“I just... pick one? A name? I don’t even know any names… but I do hate being referred to as ‘the specimen’” the last word was spit out in disgust, “I guess… Bubby.” 

“Hello, Bubby! Excellent choice!” 

Bubby couldn’t help but smile; it felt so… nice to be addressed like that. Not only with a name, but with such kindness. All pretense of being angry and violent and ready to attack had melted away. 

It was a comfortable moment of silent contemplation that ended when Harold thought of something else. 

“What about how they always call you _it_? You can change that too, if you’d like, you just have to pick something that feels right.” 

“I hate when they call me that.” 

“Well, Bubby, how does _he_ or _she_ sound?” 

“That’s too - It doesn’t feel right. I don’t think… those apply to me.” 

“How about _they_?” 

In the silence that followed, Harold launched into the history of singular they and its widespread use for centuries. 

“Yes,” Bubby cut him off mid-sentence, but he didn’t mind. 

“It’s nice to meet you, Bubby! I’m Doctor Harold Coomer, PhD!” 

Bubby smiled again, but this time it was genuine. Hopeful, even. Harold smiled back. 

A crackle of static from the intercom startled them both. 

“Doctor Coomer? Are you… alive in there?” the man from before asked nervously. 

Harold pressed the (this time correct) button and responded, “Of course I am, Doctor!” 

“You better get out of there. We, uhm, need to talk.” 

The woman cut in, “if you need any help, we’ve got guards at the ready.” 

“Ah no, that won’t be necessary!” 

He turned to Bubby, looking remorseful and torn. “So sorry, my dear Bubby, but I think it would be best for both of us if you return to…” he drifted off, the final words not needed to be said. 

Bubby was so shocked at being called ‘dear’ that they didn’t even object, climbing the ladder and hopping down into the tube. Harold hesitated before pressing the button that would close it and refill it with the goop. 

Before leaving the room, they met eyes and Bubby gave a small smile. 

Back in the conference room, the woman paced furiously. 

“I can’t believe - I don’t _understand_ how you did that… no one has ever gotten into such close contact so passively! And you had a conversation? What happened? How did you get it to just… go back in?” 

“Hello Doct - I simply asked them. We did have a conversation, a rather enlightening one. No one had ever asked their name before! They are called Bubby, and they’re a pleasure to be around. I don’t understand what all the fuss was about,” he frowned; he understood exactly what all the fuss was about but now wasn’t the time to point accusing fingers. 

She looked taken aback upon hearing this new information, “It… has a name? That points to a whole new level of consciousness…” she turned away, muttering to herself. 

The other scientist took over for her, “That’s… really fascinating. I hate to admit it, but you’ve made more progress in the past hour than anyone down here has in. God, _ever._ You’re already a part of the team, obviously, but, uh, we definitely have some ideas as to what your specific job could be,” he glanced back to the woman, but she was scribbling something on a notepad, still preoccupied, “well I guess I’ll pitch it to you. We want you to, uh, hm. Do that again. Talk to it, Bubby, keep it calm, learn more, and get it to participate in the tests,” he cleared his throat, prompting the woman to rejoin the conversation. 

“Hm? Oh yes, we definitely want you to be an intermediary, so to say. We’re especially interested in any emotional intelligence, besides rage, that it expresses. The name thing was very interesting…” she trailed off again. 

Harold thought it over for a short moment, but it was easy to decide as it seemed best for both him and Bubby, “that sounds like a plan! I’ll continue to visit _them_ ,” he emphasized the pronoun, “and I’ll report back!” 

“Oh, that’s great to hear!” the man stood, approaching Harold and holding out a hand, “I’m Doctor Birdwell and that’s Doctor Bond. We waited for a real introduction since a lot don’t make it past that, ah, initial introduction.” 

Harold clasped his hand in a crushing grip, shaking almost aggressively, “Hello, Doctor Birdwell!” he turned to face Bond, still shaking Birdwell’s hand, “Hello, Doctor Bond!” She hummed in answer. 

“I’m Doctor Harold Coomer, PhD!” 

Birdwell and Bond looked at each other and said simultaneously, “we know.” 


End file.
